She kept a wary eye out for Edgar or one of his cronies.Next time she went riding—if indeed she were given the chance—she would wear a veil.
When they reached his house, he leapt lightly down and held out a hand to help her dismount.She took it, still half-expecting him to rebuke her, but as she landed, her legs felt oddly wobbly.Staggering, she clutched onto him briefly and laughing, steadied herself.To her surprise, even briefly supported against his warm strong body, she felt a frisson of ...what?Attraction?She wasn’t sure; she’d never felt anything like it before.
Whatever it was, it felt ...dangerous.
She stepped carefully away from him.“Sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve ridden that my legs have gone a bit wobbly.”
He seemed quite unaffected by the contact.“We’ll have to take you riding more often, then, get you fit again.A hot bath will help.And I’ll send around some liniment that will help, too.It smells a bit, but given your current ‘perfume’ I doubt you’ll mind.”
She gave him a cautious sidelong look.A joke?Was he not going to reprimand her at all, then?It seemed not, for he bowed, said he’d see her tomorrow, mounted his horse and rode off.
She mounted the steps slowly, feeling suddenly tired.As she entered the house, Peverill informed her that Lady Gosforth was dining out and would be attending the opera with friends, and if she liked, she could take her supper in her room.She accepted the offer gratefully.She had so much to think about.
The ride, much as she had enjoyed it, was not something she ought to expect in future.And that unexpected surge of ...attraction?Whatever, it was disturbing.
She had stayed overlong at Lord Alverleigh’s home, and she was sure his aunt must be getting impatient for her to go.She was clearly worried about Tessa’s supposed designs on her nephew, even though Tessa had assured her repeatedly that she had no desire to marry again.And she hadn’t changed her mind.
She didn’t understand the old lady.One minute Tessa was sure the old woman despised her, and then next ...It was almost as if Lady Gosforth sympathized with her.And why would she care whether Tessa was fashionably dressed or not?Surely she would prefer her unwanted guest to look like a quiz.
It was very confusing.
Never mind.She would try again for a post in the morning.
#
DECIDING TO WALK BACKto his club, Marcus sent the horses to the stables with his groom.He’d enjoyed his ride more than he’d expected.She was easy company, riding along beside him in silence for the most part, a relaxed kind of silence, not awkward or uncomfortable.It suited him; he was not a natural conversationalist.
And then when she’d urged her mount into that most improper—though thoroughly enjoyable—gallop, her face had been alight with pleasure.The sight of her delight had stolen his breath away.
Several times he’d heard her laugh.She’d shaken her long hair loose reminding him of when he’d known her as a child.That child had been full of life: warm, spontaneous and finding joy in the smallest things.
Perhaps that wellspring of joy hadn’t been entirely driven out of her.A man could hope.
But then, when that exuberant, wild, gallop was over, she’d leaned forward, patted her mare’s neck, and then straightened, turning to face him, the joy slowly drained from her face, leaving only that wary, somehowbracedexpression, that he hated.
What had drained the happiness from her?What did she think would happen?And when he’d stared at her, wondering what had caused that abrupt change in her demeanor, she’d hastily stuffed her hair, her glorious wild silver-gilt curls back under the ugly hat as if she were embarrassed or ashamed.
It disturbed him.What had her life been like?Not being allowed to ride, even though she loved it?And that disturbing change of expression at the end, almost like a child expecting punishment, not a grown woman entitled to enjoy herself in an activity she obviously loved.
He would make sure she had many more opportunities to ride.
Though what would happen if she found a job as a companion, or worse?He didn’t like to think of that at all.
#
TESSA SAT IN FRONTof the looking glass in her bedchamber, brushing her long hair.The action invariably sparked thoughts of Hewitt, her last husband.He loved brushing her hair—both her husbands had—but Hewitt’s brushing was always a prelude to ...unpleasantness.
Even though she knew he was long dead, she still found her body bracing itself for the moment when he would wind her hair around his hand and jerk her back...She shivered and dropped the brush.How could she ever be free of the memories?
She sighed and tugged on the bell-pull to summon a maid to arrange her hair.It was too long and too unruly for her to arrange it in the smooth style that was required for a lady.As the bell faintly jangled downstairs she froze, then turned back to her reflection—and stared, as the realization dawned on her.
She didn’t have to please anyone anymore: she could do whatever she liked with her hair.Whatever she liked.
She picked up her nail scissors and without further thought, hacked off a lock of the long, silver-blond hair.it floated to the floor, bright against the rich dark colors of the Turkey rug.That would do it.She snipped off another.It fell curling to the floor.Yes!
By the time the maid arrived, Tessa was concentrating so hard on cutting her hair that she didn’t hear the girl come in.She did, however, hear her scream.“M’lady, m’lady, whatever are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”Wishing she had some bigger scissors, Tessa kept cutting.
